You
If you’re like me, sometimes you look out of your window and wonder where you belong.
You stare into space and wonder where your place is, if you have one at all.
I know that feeling. It’s something I’ve struggled with for years. I look out and wonder if there’s anybody out there, staring back at me across the void and wondering the same thing. Wondering if they’re the only one, in a sea of people who don’t relate, or with whom I can’t relate.
Sometimes, I squeeze my own hand and wonder if anyone will do the same and mean it, or whether I will be the last person who ever lets myself feel something.
I dare to hope; that there is someone, somewhere, who is brave enough to stare down their monsters and come alongside me. Who can take their inner voice of critique and the all-prevailing narrative we convince ourselves belong to those who see us, and tell me that it doesn’t apply.
Most of all, I hope that there remains somebody who can cuddle in front of an open fire without cynicism; who’ll make love with lust and passion; who can tell me they love me without caveats.
To that person: I wait for you. I believe in you. I will continue to hope.
